Guile Beneath the Clouds
by EllieDoll
Summary: A Shinobi must live to serve the Head. Then who is the Head bound to live to serve? His Clan. His Family. The rest could go to hell Fuuma Kotarou supposes...almost literally in this case. Right and wrong? What do those mean if he is bound to be labeled a traitor on whichever path he chooses?
**Prologue:**

 _In the Fuuma clan, there exists a rite of passage._

It is necessary that when a young member of the clan comes of age that they undertake this rite in order to prove their worth and be acknowledged as a true Fuuma shinobi. This acknowledgement is indeed an honor; for the ancient Fuuma, easily identified by their snowy white hair and strangely colored eyes, were a notable clan for their skill and ruthlessness. This rite remains unknown to those who are not from among them, as all their clan secrets have been meticulously protected for centuries and so forth.

A shinobi, you see, must live with the sole purpose of following their master's commands. A shinobi knows no other way of life. Freedom is a shinobi's hell. How tragic it is that in order to enter the transition between a fledgling ninja and the fully formed shinobi warrior expected from such a clan, that such a process must be undergone. Who would suppose that the vigorous training, the stern upbringing, and the harsh life of an assassin was not enough to prepare a Fuuma child to unflinchingly serve the clan Head? Who would suppose that for your loyalty to the only family you have ever known be left unquestioned would be to betray one from that very same family? No matter what decision you made…would you not still be a traitor in the eyes of the universe?

Perhaps that is the destiny of a shinobi.

If so then…perhaps the reason for this rite is to understand this simple fact.

That shinobi are traitors…. But then….

Who would willingly rely on the services of traitors? Who could trust a traitor to serve them?

Could the head so fully trust such a people not to betray him? Surely not… not without proof. The rite accomplished this as well then? A strange and sobering paradox for a child to ponder. Betray one you especially love…or betray the head. _Kill one you especially love…_ or disobey and be branded a traitor to your clan and lose everything you love in the process regardless.

A light went off suddenly in the head of the young, still black-haired, Fuuma boy. Perhaps this rite instilled the truth that by being a shinobi…that you _were_ a traitor… but in the name of the head that you serve. You have no loyalty except to the Head and with this rite you must prove your ability to be this shinobi.

This loyal traitor they aspired him and his peers to emulate.

The whirring muddle in his mind organizing itself into something his young mind could comprehend had changed nothing, but offered a small ounce of calm to settle. If the horror of his task didn't abate…at least he knew the reason he had to bear it. With this barely discernable measurement of composure he managed to grasp, he was able to tear his blank but wide-eyed stare from their fixed point on the far wall and look down. His thoughts came in quick flashing blurs. This was the first and most difficult part of the rite, wasn't it? He had followed through, right? The rest would be simple… _right_?

His feet…pale, slender and white… they contrasted sharply from the dark crimson blood seeping from up between the toes on his right. He had obeyed the Head's orders, shouldn't that be a source of pride? Could he be proud? Would Otou-san be proud? His vision blurred and his stomach tightened. Outwardly he managed to maintain himself, the only visible sign of his distress being in his sweaty palms and the unceasing tremors that shook his lithe frame. His lips were tightly pressed into a stiffened forced expression of grim, unaffected calmness. His knuckles were white, tightly gripped about the handle of the tanto he had been hiding on his person. Oka-san had taught him how to do that.

 _Would you, Otou-san?_

He received no answer.

 _I did my duty, didn't I?_

He looked into the eyes of the figure at his feet. He met the stare of lifeless lavender eyes, strangely disconnected from the scene.

 _Would you be proud?_

To be recognized as a full Fuuma shinobi was an honor, so he should be proud. He had proven himself loyal to the Head…to the clan…he had obeyed. Would his father have done the same? Of course he would have…he bore the snowy tresses and unnatural lavender irises that marked as much after all.

 _Would you be proud…._

"…Papa?" He finally spoke the last of his thought out loud, unsure why, and was surprised by his word choice. He hadn't called Otou-san that since he was very small. Watching the color start to fade from the face of the corpse before him, he began to wonder just how long he had been standing here numbly. Was there something in him that hoped for one last reassurance from his _dead father_? He didn't hear an answer. He was left to ponder his question alone. His voice had been barely audible and strained for some reason…it felt as if he had to shove the voice from his lungs by force.

When the sounds announcing another person's presence met his ears, the Fuuma boy only flinched once before he resumed his previous posture. There was a soft barely audible note of surprise that identified the new arrival as his mother. At this he slowly looked over a slender, shaking shoulder at her. Her face was hardened into an emotional and yet…so unreadable expression, but it vanished into grim nothingness so quickly that in his dazed state he was unsure if he had imagined it or not. She stared wordlessly at the blade in the hand of her son. Others behind soon joined her in discovering the corpse of their comrade in grim silence. Still his eyes never left the figure of his mother.

Through the stiffness and trembling the young boy's brain finally got a hold of his mouth enough for his voice to be heard somewhat clearly. Licking his dry lips, he managed a shaky dull murmur.

"… _Oka…"_

….

The head seems pleased with him. Fuuma Kotarou; He is…an oddly gangly, old-looking man, with an eerie look and shape to his own flaunted pair or light lavender eyes. They sit as though they have no pupils, though the boy could see them plainly there all the same. His hair line recedes far back on his head, thinning quickly it seems, and it almost belied the length of the straight snowy white tresses that fell behind his gaudy top-knot and down past his tapered waist. From his long narrow face hung an even longer, just as narrow, white beard and mustache that reached down his chest and ended in a point. It is difficult not to take notice of his excessively opulent kimono, and long dark nails. He could never tell from a distance if they were black or dark purple. The Head dressed in such a different fashion from the rest of the clan. How strange it was that he did not, himself, don the practical, tighter fitting garb of the assassins he was meant to be apart of.

With a nod he approved the boy for the rest of the rite.

At this, a moderately large box that reached about to the lad's waist was pushed over, surrounded by heavy chains that wound around it. These were quickly removed from the container. The box was wooden and black and carved with dragons and pretty ferns; symbols of the Orochi beast whom the clan was sworn to serve. As it was ceremoniously opened, the fledgling Fuuma felt a twist of apprehension in his gut. He turned his head quickly to glimpse at his mother but she still hadn't looked him directly in the eye since earlier in the afternoon. He would find no reassurance there. She appeared unaffected, like every other shinobi present.

When two shinobi reached out to him, he shrugged them both away. He would not be pushed into that dark box. If he has to go in, he would do it himself; he would settle in and finally be away from all the emotionless staring eyes on his own. He told himself that it was not because he was afraid; that he did _not_ think he would begin to panic if he were pushed into the dark seclusion so swiftly by outside forces. The tremors in his body had still not abated but they were no longer noticeable. After repulsing the two men who sought to lift him, he hauled himself over the open container with great dexterity. He thought he saw the head nod in approval at what was obviously perceived as an independent resolve on his part. He didn't care. Suddenly he didn't want to be looked at anymore. With a final glance to see where his mother was, he slithered down feet first into the opening atop the box and soon disappeared from sight into a fetal crouch that allowed him to fit within.

The lid slides shut over him.

It sounds with an imagined harsh finality that feels real enough to him.

Complete darkness has devoured him.

Did he wince? He cannot tell.

The drag of chains over the thick wood makes his spine shiver… and he is moving.

Lifting, he knows…

He will be suspended like this for an indefinite time.

Again he seems to have forgotten why he had to undergo this rite. The phantom sensation of his blade cutting through flesh assaults his senses yet again…his _father's_ flesh. Fingers twitch. Otou-san was not here to be angry over this… or disappointed…and no not proud. The reality of the void left behind hits him finally in the gut and he is sick. Tears spill… futile, emotional and meaningless things he realizes. His mind scrambles for footholds, but can only begin the process of rationalizing the traditions of his clan all over again. And so the cycle begins anew.

… _In the Fuuma clan…there exists a rite of passage…_

Still though as if to conduct a finishing blow, he mouths the softest of whispers in the pitch-blackness of his temporary prison…

 _Traitor…_

Slowly the word begins to feel like nothing to him.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Hello. Name's known as Ellie. You will never know what that is short for so don't ask this is the prologue for my Donten ni Warau fanfiction. Yes I had an OC in mind for this but I may or may not include her depending on if the gatdamned manga Donten ni Warau Gaiden would just get updates already. I mostly wanted to do a novelization on the story from the POV of the "villain" or one of the villains to be more precise. Shirasu's motives are complex…both dark and yet out of love for a clan he wants to nuture and change. Yet the clan's purpose has only ever been to serve the Orochi… the wicked evil spirits of destruction…like demons essentially. I honestly yearn for more insight, which I know is coming in this sequel and POSSIBLY even a redemption. After all major upcoming insight into his relationship with Tenka and the boys is being heavily implied by the chapters that ARE there. I know this isn't a very big fandom so I don't expect many reviews…but SERIOUSLY THEY WOULD BE GREATLY APPRECIATED AS I GET DISCOURAGED EASILY WHEN I WRITE. Thank you and good day :D!


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